Scars of Time

Chapter 2: "A slight flutter"

Hope's POV

Before I took a step toward him, I wiped my eyes, hastily brushing back my disheveled hair. The rain was falling now, heavy and cold, soaking through my clothes, but I didn't care.

I reached out for his hand.

The moment our fingers touched, I felt it. A warmth that stilled the chaos in my mind. His hand felt safe. Safer than Time's ever had. Maybe it was because he'd just saved my life. Or maybe it was because he wasn't afraid to touch me when I was at my worst.

I held on.

Longer than necessary. Long enough to feel the shape of his fingers, the calluses on his palm. I memorized it without thinking.

Time had already thanked him, but I felt like I owed him more. Like gratitude wasn't enough. It pressed on my chest, thick and personal.

"I hope you don't do this again," he said softly, his voice laced with concern.

I blinked, surprised that he wasn't pushing me away. His eyes met mine, steady and curious, and I had the strangest feeling that he saw me. Not just the soaked, shaking girl on the pavement, but me. Hope. And somehow, in that moment, I felt like I wasn't just someone to be saved. I was someone who mattered.

His hand gently lifted my chin, his gaze lingering on the scar from earlier, when I'd hit the wall.

Life is strange like that, I thought. One minute can change everything. If I'd jumped a moment earlier, I would have missed meeting him.

I smiled, just a little. Fate.

"The ambulance should be here soon," he said, turning to Time, who didn't react. He seemed lost, trapped in a place far from here.

I shifted, my attention drawn to my brother.

Time hates the rain. His body stiffens whenever the first drops fall, his hands instinctively rising to cover his ears. Like now. He stood there, unmoving, his back hunched, hands clamped against his head, as if the world was crashing down around him.

"Can you stay until it gets here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. My eyes stayed fixed on Time, but my heart waited on Alex's answer.

He checked his phone briefly, then looked at me with a small, almost reassuring smile. "Of course. I'll stay."

Of course. Like it was obvious. Like staying was the most natural thing in the world.

I filed that away. Of course.

I turned back to Time, the rain pouring harder now, drenching us. My heart twisted painfully at the sight of him, so fragile under the weight of the storm.

I hurried to him, pulling him into my arms. His clothes were soaked, his body trembling under the relentless assault of the rain. He kept his hands over his ears, his eyes shut tight, as if trying to block out not just the storm but the noise inside his head.

"Time," I whispered, my voice breaking. "It's okay. Breathe. Please, look at me. I'm okay. I'm right here."

His eyes opened slowly, glazed and far away, but he wasn't seeing me. Not really. He was back there, wherever the rain took him.

A tear slipped down my cheek, mingling with the cold raindrops. I brushed his wet face, wiping away his tears and the rain that wouldn't stop falling.

"I'm sorry," he muttered through clenched teeth. His voice was hollow. Empty.

"No, I'm sorry." I held him tighter, wishing I could protect him. "I won't do this again."

But we both knew his apology wasn't just for tonight. It was for everything.

"We'll talk later," I said gently. "Let's just get inside, okay?"

I gripped his hand, squeezing it tight as if to anchor him, and together, with Alex's help, we made our way into the building. Time's breathing was still shallow, his skin pale, but at least we were out of the storm. The sound of rain drumming on the roof still echoed faintly in the background, but it was muted now.

We sat on the stairs, catching our breath. The silence stretched until Alex finally broke it.

"I'm Alex, by the way," he said, offering a soft smile.

I studied his face. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners. The way his smile reached them. Genuine, I decided. He's genuine.

"I'm Hope," I said, letting my name hang in the air. "This is my brother, Time."

Alex looked between us, something flickering in his expression. "Brother?! I thought..." He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter." He paused. "Anyway, I'm a taxi driver. I can take you both to the hospital if you need."

Time, still barely holding himself together, shook his head. "Our driver's waiting. Plus the ambulance should be here."

Alex nodded, rising to leave. "Well, I'd better get going then."

But I wasn't ready for him to leave. Not yet. I needed more.

"Alex," I said, and he paused. "Thank you. For everything."

I held his gaze a beat longer than necessary. Long enough for him to feel it. Long enough for him to remember.

He nodded, offering one last smile, and then he was gone.

I watched the door close behind him.

Alex, I repeated in my head. His name is Alex.

I looked over at Time, whose shoulders were still tense, his eyes staring blankly at the floor.

I sighed.

For a moment, I had felt normal, like a regular girl caught in an ordinary storm. But now, with Alex gone and the rain still pounding outside, that moment had passed.

And only one thought crossed my mind. Would he have helped us if he really knew us?

.......................

Time's POV

Stepping into the open air, the sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer with each passing second. The ambulance had finally arrived. A collective sigh of relief escaped from the onlookers as they saw Hope unharmed. Yet their relief felt hollow; they pretended as if her jumping would have made any difference to them at all. They briefly wore masks of sadness, only to discard them as they retreated to the comfort of their cozy beds, surrounded by their loved ones.

These are the same people who failed her, the ones who stood by as her cries for help echoed into the void. They were spectators, maintaining a safe distance while Hope stood on the edge, contemplating the abyss.

Or maybe that's just me.

If it weren’t for Alex’s help, I could have been grappling with the devastating reality of holding my little sister’s lifeless body at this very moment. My anger toward them is a reflection of my anger at myself. Instead of waiting, I could have taken the initiative, gone upstairs first, and helped her.

I know that Hope’s love for me is so immense that she would never find it in her heart to blame me. That’s why I have to do it in her place. She continues to be blissfully unaware of the truth; that she has the most ineffective older brother imaginable. One who feels utterly helpless.

The paramedics rushed toward us, their hands steady and practiced. They checked Hope's vitals, asked her questions she answered too calmly. I watched her smile at them, reassuring them she was fine, and something twisted in my chest.

She's too good at this, I thought. Too practiced at pretending.

“Let’s go to the hospital, please,” I told the driver, trying to keep my voice steady as I held onto Hope’s trembling hand. It was a feeble attempt to show her I was there for her, but inside, my heart raced with a fear I couldn’t articulate.

At the hospital, the doctor treated her wound with expertise, assuring me it was merely a scratch that would heal within a week. But that scratch isn’t what I’m worried about. It will fade in time, but what about her heart? When will that heal? Or will it only be the day I die?

As the days turned into a week following the incident, Hope’s state of mind appeared to improve. She was absolutely shining, her smile and laughter becoming genuine and infectious once more. Witnessing that beautiful smile on her face has become my daily source of joy. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to make sure it stays there forever.

Yet, every time the rain falls, I feel the cold grip of dread wrapping around my chest. The sound of raindrops against the window sends me spiraling back to that moment... Hope on the ledge, the weight of despair pulling her down while I stood paralyzed, trapped by my fear. I can’t shake the image of her trembling legs, on the brink of disaster, just like the raindrops that threaten to drown the world outside.

It’s all still there, just beneath the surface.

I haven’t let go of it.

And maybe that’s why I’ve been holding on to… distractions.

That's what I call it, at least; something to look forward to.

There’s no logic to it. It’s nothing I would dare define, but for some reason, I keep finding excuses to pass by the office building downtown.

Not for business.

Not really.

There’s a girl at the reception desk.

Josephine.

Her name settles in my thoughts before I even allow it to. It lingers, like the scent of something familiar and hard to place.

I don’t even know her.

And still, something about her catches me off guard each time I see her. Her quiet defiance, her poised calm, or maybe the way her eyes flick away when she notices me looking.

I've started timing my visits. I know when she takes her lunch break. I know which days she works and which days she doesn't. I know she always walks past the elevators at exactly eleven-fifteen.

She probably hates me. I’d hate me too.

But I find myself headed there again today, dressed for a meeting I could’ve handled over the phone, bringing along three of my men to make it seem official.

And I hate myself a little more for it.

Still, I go.

Filled with anticipation, I push open the door, my heart racing with thoughts of what I want to say. But the words die in my throat the moment I step inside and see someone entirely unexpected.

“Hello. How may I help you?” the receptionist asks with a polite smile.

“Uh, I have a meeting with Mr. Gonzalez.”

“One moment… Yes, he’s expecting you. You can head up.”

I nod and turn to leave, but something holds me back, so I retreat my steps. “Is Miss Josephine not working today?”

“Jo? She’s in the back. Would you like me to get her?”

I shake my head, though part of me hopes she’ll do it anyway. My luck seems to run dry as I make my way upstairs. I finish my tasks, but as I prepare to leave, I notice she still hasn’t arrived. It feels as if the universe is conspiring against our meeting, playing with fate and testing my patience.

I walk, but my attention is glued to her desk, hoping she’ll pop up before I reach the door. Suddenly, I bump into someone.

“Watch where you’re going.” a familiar voice snaps

A grin spreads across my face before I can stop it. There she is, crouched over what used to be her lunch. Now it’s just a mess on the floor.

Perfect, I think. She's perfect.

“Well, not only are you deaf, but blind too? How’d you miss the group of men walking right in front of you?”

“It’s impressive,” she fires back, still picking up the mess, “how you manage to be this arrogant even after wrecking my lunch."

I watch her hands as they gather the scattered pieces. Her fingers are steady. Her voice is sharp. She's not afraid of me. She's not impressed by me. She's just... herself.

I want to know everything about her.

“Fine, I’ll take the blame this time." I say ceouching down to help. "Let me make it up to you.”

She glanced at me unimpressed “And how do you plan on making it up?”

I lean in, just slightly. Just enough to catch the scent of her perfume. Just enough to see the way her pupils dilate, even if she won't admit it.

“Since I ruined your lunch, how about I replace it? With one we share?”

I hold her gaze and wait.

I've learned that patience is a weapon. Most people break under silence. They fill it with nonsense, with nervous laughter, with anything to escape the weight of being watched.

I wonder if she'll break.

I hope she doesn't.